"Dang," Lula said, pulling into Quakerbridge. "Look here at this parking lot. It's full. This mother is full. Where am I supposed to park? I only got two days to shop. I can't deal with this parking thing. And what's with all the best spots going to the handicapped? You see any handicap cars in all these handicap places? How many handicap people they think we got in Jersey?"

Lula rode around the lot for twenty minutes, but she didn't find a parking space. "Look at this itty bitty Sentra nosed up to a wreck of a Pinto," Lula said, wheeling around so she had the front bumper of her Firebird inches from the back bumper of the Sentra. "Uh-oh," she said, easing forward, "look how that Sentra's moving forward all by itself. Before you know it, there's gonna be a parking space available on account of that Pinto is rolling into the driving lane."

"You can't just push a car out of its space!" I said.

"Sure I can," Lula said. "See? I already did it." Lula had her handbag over her shoulder, and she was out of the Firebird, booking toward the mall entrance. "I got a lot to do," Lula said. "I'll meet you back at the car at two-thirty."

I glanced down at my watch. It was two-thirty. And I only had one present. I'd gotten a pair of gloves for my dad. That was a no-brainer. I got him gloves every year. He counted on it. I was at a loss for everyone else. I'd given Valerie all my good gift ideas. And the mall was a mob scene. Too many shoppers. Not enough clerks at registers. Picked-over merchandise. Why did I let this go to the last minute? Why do I go through this every year? Next year I'm getting my Christmas presents in July. I swear, I am.

Lula and I reached the car simultaneously. I had my little bag with the gloves, and Lula had four huge shopping bags filled to bursting.

"Wow," I said, "you're good. I only got gloves."

"Hell, I don't even know what's in these bags," Lula said. "I just started grabbing stuff that was close to a register. I figure I'll sort it out later. Everybody always takes their shit back anyway, so it don't really matter what you buy the first time around."

Lula cruised toward the exit and her eyes lit when she came to the edge of the lot. "Do you believe this?" she said. "They set up a Christmas tree lot here. I need a Christmas tree. I'm gonna stop. I'll only be a minute. I'm gonna get myself a Christmas tree."

Fifteen minutes later we had two six-foot Christmas trees stuffed into Lula's four-foot trunk. One tree for Lula. And one tree for me. We secured the trunk lid with a bungee cord, and we were on our way.